


Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

by Sangerin



Category: Spooks
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-22
Updated: 2007-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:57:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangerin/pseuds/Sangerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easier when they're dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers to 5.5, including major spoilers of every significant departure since 1.2

>It's easier when they're dead.

When an agent is dead you have – to use the risible words of the pop psychologists - _closure_. You have licence to mourn, and to move on. You have the comfort of ritual, and the finality of a casket.

When Colin died, and the operation that had triggered his death was over, there was a memorial service. It proceeded uninterrupted, with Colin's real occupation suitably obscured. Devising a reasonable explanation of why an IT genius died in the workplace had taxed the brains of HR, whose job it was not to oversee the real human resources, but create the necessary legends. And staying calm and focused throughout the memorial service taxed Malcolm's composure, but he, too, performed admirably in circumstances that were anything but good. Harry admired him for it at the time, and even more now.

When Fiona died, someone had to hold Adam together. The whole team stepped up, and somehow, despite the horror of the way she'd died, they were able to put her death behind them and focus on Adam, and little Wes.

When Danny died the mourning had been horribly delayed. The funeral was interrupted. The cover story hastily applied and thoroughly failing to stick when all of Danny's colleagues disappeared within minutes of a terrorist attack - even Ruth, who refused initially, and with whom Harry had entirely sympathised, although he couldn't say so.

When Helen died he'd had the satisfaction of taking revenge, and yet when the moment came to delete her file, it was no better than any other time he'd hit that button after a funeral, but no worse, either.

It truly was easier when they were dead. There was finality in death; no uncertainty, no wondering, no sudden glimpse of a familiar-seeming head on Oxford Street and the suspicion that if you just had turned your head a little sooner, it would have been them, and not a stranger. There was no moment when you told yourself that you'd never see the person again, but hoped against hope that you would. There were still the sudden "oh, I must tell…" moments, but they were followed by temptation rather than sadness. Many times Harry had paused before sending specially encrypted emails to addresses only he (and one other person) knew, and had deleted them instead. There were ways of getting messages to people, but only when they were still alive. Which made it easier when they were dead.

Only he and Danny knew where Zoe had gone, knew the details of her new identity. And when Danny died Harry was alone with the knowledge: the only one who could tell Zoe about the death of her friend. That knowledge of Zoe was the final thread Harry held to the triumvirate that Zoe, Danny and Tom had formed; a group closer than many teams ever became – bonds between them formed in moments after they'd been introduced to each other and to Harry.

Tom's departure had been, paradoxically, both stormy and peaceful. There was no outside force to blame directly, which hadn't stopped Harry from blaming himself for not noticing the impending implosion. He should have managed his people better than that. And he should have known _Tom_ better than that. He wasn't a father to any of his agents – he had enough trouble with his blood-offspring without taking on the troubles of others – but he'd been close to all three of them, and now all three were gone.

Thankfully Tessa had not been present to see it happen. She had left by stages; leaving the service instead of being sent to Narnia and the North up in Scotland (there was part of him that loved the odd names people came up with, and part that found it irksome), and then finally, devastatingly leaving the UK after wreaking havoc on his entire team. He'd gone through close to a bottle of scotch after that final encounter, a record shared only by Zoe's departure, Danny's death, and now, Ruth.

What Juliet had warned him of had, in fact, come true. He had lost Ruth – lost her in the worst possible way, because she wouldn't be by his side any longer. If it had been a relationship gone wrong, they could have worked through the consequences without Ruth being transferred. They had been doing that already. But now she was gone: turning towards her desk no longer comforted him, instead it reminded him of the hole in his heart.

And the simple truth was, if she was dead, he could have moved on. He could have mourned, held a memorial service, shed a few manful tears in public and more stormy tears in private. But he knew he would forever be aware that she was still out there, beyond his reach and protection.

When Tom had left, Harry had calmly told him that they would never meet again. He didn't want to believe that was true of Ruth. One day, he would retire. One day, he would no longer be quite so tightly bound to this chair and this building and this city and this nation. One day, he would reach out to his contacts, legitimate and otherwise, and he would find her. As long, of course, as she wanted to be found.


End file.
